But all things here are vexing Vanity.
For what is Beauty but a fading Flower?
Or what is Pleasure but the Devil's bait,
Whereby he catcheth whom he would devour,
And multitudes of Souls doth ruinate?
And what are Friends but mortal men as we,
Whom Death from us may quickly separate?
Or else their hearts may quite estrangéd be,
And all their love be turnéd into hate.
And what are Riches to be doted on?